Violet Night
by Jadie Stee
Summary: Bruce Wayne has a new girl friend but Dick can't stand her. Is he just feeling jealous or is it something more?
1. Chapter 1

Title: Violet Night

Author: Jadie

Summery: Bruce Wayne has a new girl friend but Dick can't stand her. Is he just feeling jealous or is it something more?

Genre: angst, AU, (because I've never actually watched the cartoon or read the comics; what I know of batman comes from the films, the really old tv series, and fanfiction. Therefore, anything I get wrong about the batman universe can be blamed on it being an alternate universe, or you could send a helpful, polite review informing me on details that are off). Possibly OOC (for the same reason it's AU)

Warnings: Everything, not because I have every possible thing one warns against in it but because I hate giving away part of the story in the warnings. So if you are too young/don't like to read about violence/death/sex/abuse/strong language then be warned one or more of these might be included and, considering the mature rating of the story, at least one probably is.

Rating: Mature

Chapter 1

The Violet Woman

"I hate her," Dick muttered darkly, his nose wrinkling at an imagined stench, "She always reeks of that flower perfume stuff. Violet, whatever those are meant to smell like."

"Aren't you too old to still be afraid of girl cooties?" Barbara asked with a teasing smile. The fourteen year old teen glanced at her in annoyance but ignored the comment in favor of glaring down from their vantage point at the top of the stairs. Below them, a beautiful young woman with flowing black hair was hanging off of Bruce's arm. They were dressed to go out, Bruce in a suit and she in a black dress. Under other circumstances, Dick might have secretly admired her beauty, but something about the woman put him off.

"Well, she does stink," he insisted, "Why do girls have to drown themselves in the stuff?"

"I'm a girl, do I stink?" Barbara asked in reply. Dick finally turned his head away from the couple at the bottom of the stairs to look at her.

"You, Barbara, are no girl," he answered, "You're a beautiful young lady." And even with the age gap between them, she found herself blushing.

"I heartily agree," a sudden voice announced from behind them in a refined accent. Barbara jumped, turning to see Alfred had appeared baring a tray, "Now, might I suggest some refreshments in the green room and leaving Master Bruce to his date?" Dick, not appearing startled in the slightest, only grudgingly nodded his head. Barbara left more willingly, not really caring to spy on the two in the first place.

"How long do you think this one will last?" Dick asked as he allowed Alfred to lead him away, "Already two weeks longer than the last record."

"Maybe she will stay around," Barbara suggested. Dick scowled.

"I believe that is the business of master Bruce," Alfred said, his voice mildly reproving. "And now, I'll leave you to entertain your lady friend."

"Thank you, Alfred," Dick answered, sparing him a brief smile before returning to his scowl. Alfred gave a small sigh and retired.

"I can't believe he lets her stay the night," Dick continued to rant as soon as the older gentleman was gone, "Like I need the image in my head."

"In separate rooms, isn't it?" Barbara asked, having heard something of the details already. This was not the first time Dick had complained about the woman.

"Only because _she_ wants to give the proper impression with the 'child' in the house," he answered, "As if I don't know how they sneak into each other's rooms. And there's another thing, this one keeps trying to come off as motherly towards me. I hate it when they do that."

"Enough, Dick!" Barbara cried, "For the past month all I hear about all day is how horrible this woman is!"

"Well she is," Dick answered, but he at last agreed to change the subject. And the new woman was horrible. And Bruce never wanted to hear it. Not even when her staying in the house kept them from patrol or when Dick suggested her perfume had some sort of love concoction that had addled Bruce's brain. That was how Dick knew it was supposed to be violet; Bruce had apparently bought her the perfume himself. Thankfully it was chosen at her request, not to Bruce's taste, though he said it was growing on him. Just like Myrie seemed to be growing on him, Dick thought, like a wart. Dick never get close to that smell without wanting to gag, but that could just as well have been the effect of being close to Myra Trinity Linderman. To be Myra Trinity Wayne if she had her way. Worst of all, Bruce didn't really seem that adverse to the idea.

When they first started going out, it was all about the Bruce Wayne image. She was only the girl of the week, another beauty with no brains to adorn his side. Not that Bruce used them, or not any more than they were using him, going out with his image with no more care for Bruce than as the latest in accessory. But Myra lasted for longer than a week. Then, one day, Dick came down to breakfast and she was there, Bruce hanging over her and calling her 'Myrie'. It had all gone down hill from there. Dick had even begun to have nightmares about it, like he was drowning in her awful perfume.

Thankfully, that night was a patrol night, which meant there was no way Myrie would be staying over. But Dick had a worried, anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach that somehow, someway, that woman would persuade Bruce to let her stay anyway. He had nightmarish visions of her dressed up, cat-woman-like and following beside the bat while he struggled along behind them. Not that he was worried about her replacing him, somehow. Which was what just about everyone else thought he was feeling and every single one of them had taken the time to give him a talk about how Bruce having a girl friend didn't mean he'd stop caring about Dick. Dick knew that already. He wasn't jealous, he wasn't 'not giving her a chance', and he wasn't frightened by her 'mother figure' presence. He just plain didn't like her.

For now, he was willing to try and forget her stench and chat with Barbara, their meal giving way to video games and then, at Alfred's intervention, to Dick's homework with Barbara offering to help. Dick was even gracious enough to accept the help, even though he didn't really need it, but finally Barbara left and it was just Dick and Alfred eating dinner. Bruce was still out with _her_. An hour later, unable to stand waiting around, Dick went to practice some gymnastics.

He was only just getting into the workout when he felt a pair of eyes on him. He finished the routine and turned, an excuse on his lips as to why he was there without a spotter. Only, it wasn't Bruce.

Myrie, once she saw he knew she was there, began to clap her hands together, a smile of delight upon her face that didn't quite match her eyes.

"Really, that was brilliant!" she exclaimed, "No one said you were so talented!"

"I used to be in the circus," Dick answered, abruptly, and didn't explain any more. He approached her slowly, trying to keep from gagging as he was hit by her perfume. It reminded him of any number of debilitating poisons various criminals had tried to use to dispatch him, and it made him want to react. He resisted and tried to give her a cautious grin. "Where's Bruce?" he asked.

"Oh, he's about somewhere," she answered, still smiling sweetly.

"Why are you still here?" was his next question, and the smile faltered. Then it returned and she approached him, reaching out her arms to hold him as though in a motherly embrace. It made him feel uncomfortable; Bruce certainly wasn't one for hugs, and the smell of violets was as strong as ever. He tensed in her arms, unable to keep from wrinkling his nose.

"My dear boy," she said, "I know just how you feel. You've had Bruce all to yourself for years, and now, suddenly, this strange person has waltzed in and you feel displaced. But we can be friends too, don't you think, Richard?" And as she talked she moved her hands, caressing his chest with one while her other ruffled his hair, pulling his head down awkwardly into her bosom. "I think a woman's touch is just what you boys need."

"We don't need a woman's touch!" he exclaimed, pulling away from her arms, "We don't need you!" He turned to storm angrily away only to come face to face with Bruce Wayne.

"Dick!" he cried, his voice stern and disapproving, and Dick wondered when he had appeared. The teen ignored him, stomping down the hall and refusing to stop though Bruce called after him.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Dick was almost certain that the patrol that night was going to be canceled. Even if Myra didn't turn out to be staying the night, Bruce would probably go all parental and ground him. But, to his surprise, Bruce showed up in his bedroom an hour and a half later.

"It's time," was all he said, his voice already taking on the monotones of the bat, and Dick was quick to follow. It was a relief to don the suit once more. At last he could escape the nauseating stench of the manor for the crisp night air. They moved in silence through the shadows, watchful for signs of unlawful activities. For a long time they found nothing, not such much as a single mugger, and it seemed it would be a quiet night. That was, until they came to a not so abandoned warehouse.

They almost passed it by; whoever was inside had gotten wise to the patrol of the bat and no light escaped the building to give them away. Nor were there any stirrings in the dust or unexpected footprints to indicate recent activity. This was, in fact, their undoing. The place was too clean for an abandoned warehouse, too clean for even a lawfully in use warehouse. Someone was obviously trying to sweep away the evidence of their passing. Silently, the duo scouted out the building for a way in. The roof was out; anyone who knew them at all knew they were famous for rooftop entries. Batman led the way towards the sewer.

"Terrific," Robin mumbled, "The criminals go clean and we go dirty." Batman didn't bother to reply as he disappeared down into the darkness. Holding his breath, Robin followed. With only minimum trouble they found their way into a cellar. They came out of it into a jungle.

"Three guesses who's behind this," Robin mumbled as Batman wrung out his cape. At least no one would smell them out over the fertilizer. Then they split up, slipping silently passed three muscled brutes in search of the mastermind. Batman found her first, sitting upon a throne of ivy. Robin soon found her as well, looking down from a catwalk above. Unfortunately, their spying was cut short when a fine mist of spray suddenly started up, drenching the plants and super heroes alike. It was most definitely not water.

Robin staggered on the vine covered catwalk. He stared at Poison Ivy, bathing in the mist like some ancient goddess of seduction. Robin felt his skin flushing red as he watched, her long limbs and flowing hair stirring something inside him. This was not the first time he was made to feel desire in her presence, but this time there was absolutely nothing of pleasure in it. The first stirrings of lust brought with them instead an almost helpless fear, his stomach clenching in disgust. Almost, he thought he could smell the horrid violet perfume. And yet, despite the floral display around them, there was nothing of violets. Robin felt like he was about to be sick and his head began to ache as his desire warred with his disgust.

Beneath him, Batman reacted without any such dichotomy, his eyes darkening black. He stepped from his hiding place immediately, gliding towards the vision of beauty and sex. Poison Ivy saw him and laughed. Dick saw and groaned.

"Batman!" she cried gleefully, "I see you've found out about my new phero-fertilizer! What do you think?"

"An invention of brilliance, as always," Batman practically purred, "A new trick to enslave men, I take it? But why waste it upon the plants?"

"Perfume," she answered delightedly, "New fragrances to enchant the senses." Robin tried to decide if Batman had just ingeniously discovered her plot or if he was truly ensnared. He suspected a bit of both. If he weren't so busy trying not to throw up, he thought he might have swung down himself into her enchanting arms.

"But what of the boy wonder?" Poison Ivy asked, her arms wrapping seductively around her captive, "Surely you didn't leave him behind this night?"

"Let's leave this between adults," Batman answered, "He's too young to play." From his hiding place Robin was hopeful. Batman wasn't so far gone that he was ready to give his partner away. Either that or he truly didn't want Robin to show up and ruin their grown up fun.

"Not so very young," Poison Ivy answered, and she turned her head about with narrowed eyes. She didn't think the mist could have missed him when it caught her the bat. Robin lay flat and watched. Unfortunately, there was nothing of red or yellow around him, and her sharp eyes caught sight of his costume through the greenery. She turned her gaze away quickly, pretending to have missed it.

"Never mind," she said at last, "A bat in the hand's worth far more than a bird in the bush." And she drew Batman along with her through a small door to the right of the throne. Robin watched, waited a minute, and then got ready to follow. Which was right when the brute muscles appeared, one at either end of the catwalk and one on the ground below.

"It seems Ivy was right," one said, grinning cruelly, "Little birds who play on catwalks are likely to get caught."

"You think that line up all by yourself?" Robin demanded, grinning back though inwardly he groaned at the guy's words. The cat reference made him uneasy; it would be just what they needed for Catwoman to suddenly show up as well. The goon growled at him and swung his fist. Robin ducked and the struggle began.

Despite their hulking size, the fight was fairly even. The catwalk was too narrow for them to use their greater numbers or size to their advantage; Robin's smaller size actually helped him there. But the two on the catwalk were able to distract him long enough that he didn't see the gun the third one had pulled. He had only managed to knock one goon out when a dart hit him and the world faded to black. It was only luck that had him landing in the second goon's arms and not headfirst over the railing. Ignoring their fallen companion, the two remaining brutes went to find Ivy with their prize.

Meanwhile, Batman was already bound in tough vines; Poison Ivy was taking no chances despite his apparent compliance. If he was faking, he was doing a very good job of it. He didn't even complain that she had tied him up, except to sigh in her direction. The first time he showed any negative reaction was when Robin was born in unconscious. But when he saw he was only sleeping, and Poison Ivy assured him he would wake soon, he seemed to forget all about his partner in favor of gazing longingly towards the woman.

Poison Ivy, meanwhile, ignored the bat and studied the boy. She simply couldn't understand how he could have resisted her mist; teenage boys aught to be affected harder not less. And she knew he was attracted to woman; he had certainly reacted to her before. She watched him impatiently for the drugs to wear off and for Robin to awaken. She didn't have to wait long.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Dick opened his eyes, groaned, and threw up all over the apparition leaning over him. He felt a lot better after that, especially since the smell of vomit overpowered the stench of blossoms. The illusive reminder of violets receded, as did the no longer so attractive temptress. It was even worth the outraged scream and vicious slap. With a withering glare, Poison Ivy snapped her fingers and left as her vines tightened their hold about her victims. Robin and Batman were left alone. And a Batman and Robin left to their own devices seldom remain prisoners for long.

With some small effort, Batman accessed a knife hidden in his belt and soon freed himself from the mass of writhing vines. But freeing Robin was made more urgent as the vines retaliated by tightening on him, while the free vines whipped about like crazy.

"Bat..." Robin gasped, his voice cut off mid-word by a vine tightening around his neck.

"Don't fight them, Robin," Batman instructed, his voice deceptively calm, and he moved in, hacking at the obstructing serpentine coils. The wild vines slashed back, trying to wrap around his wrists and ankles and to otherwise trip him up. The fight became more desperate by the second as Robin slowly turned an alarming shade of blue. Finally the bat ducked in close enough to free his partner, dragging him away while he gasped for breath.

"I'm okay," Robin gasped while batman looked him over, "Let's go after Poison Ivy." Batman hesitated, his features grimmer than normal.

"Not tonight," he said at last, and without waiting for Robin's arguments he turned and cast a line up to the roof. Robin followed reluctantly and together they slipped out a window, disabling a few alarms and traps from the inside, and escaping the warehouse.

"We were already compromised once tonight," Batman said on the way back to the mansion, "I need to analyze this phero-fertilizer before we go after her again."

"You mean you were compromised," Robin answered, "I didn't go all silly."

"That needs to be analyzed too," Batman answered, "And you were unconscious. There were too many unknown factors."

"And you still think violet Myra isn't using some weird love potion?" Dick demanded.

"Dick," Batman admonished, his tone forbidding, and neither said anything more for the rest of the ride home.

Once back in the cave, Batman immediately set about running tests. Once he was finished checking Robin over, especially the deep bruising around his neck, and gathering samples, he had him de-suit and sent him to bed. Dick arrived in his bedroom just as annoyed as when he last left, and covered in more bruises. It was a good thing the weather was chilly because it looked like he would need to wear a turtle neck at school for a couple of days. That night he didn't dream about Myra or drowning in a violet sea but for once slept deeply with only brief, dark visions of fighting his way through a jungle.

The next week passed without much out of the ordinary. Dick went to school where no one noticed his sudden turtleneck fashion sense, Alfred fed him a lot of soup, and, though Bruce met with Myra almost every day, he didn't press for Dick to get to know Myra better and she didn't stay the night. The nights were spent alternately in the lab and keeping an eye on Poison Ivy, with an hour or two thrown in for general patrolling.

By the end of the week, Batman was finally convinced he had developed a usable antidote, should Poison Ivy unleash her poisonous perfume upon the city. But nothing in his research revealed why Dick wasn't effected like Bruce was.

"I told you," Dick explained yet again, when Batman questioned him, "I did feel, you know, but I didn't want it."

"So it's psychological," Batman answered, his expression troubled. Instantly, he dropped the bat persona and transformed into concerned guardian. "Is there anything you would like to talk about?" he asked, "Did something happen that you didn't like with a girl?"

"No!" Dick cried, blushing bright red, "I just..." Dick paused. He thought about the dreams where he was drowning in the violet stench. How he would wake up slick and sweaty in the morning, as though he had spent the night dreaming about beautiful women. About how sometimes he dreamed about pleasure, about sex, but it always turned into that horrid drowning nightmare. About how the thought of sex made him feel ill and helpless, like he was drowning all over again. He said none of this, trailing off into an uncomfortable silence.

"Dick..." Bruce began, sounding slightly embarrassed himself, "Have you ever...are you still a virgin?" Dick didn't think it was possible for his face to get any redder.

"Yes!" he blurted out, "I've never...never gone beyond, you know. Making out."

"But you have felt interest?" Bruce continued, taking on a clinical tone.

"Yes," Dick said again, staring down at the floor.

"With women, I mean," Bruce continued, "You do like women?"

"Yes!" Dick answered, startled enough by the question to glance up before looking down again. Bruce considered him for a long moment.

"Have you always felt sick when you felt desire?" the questioning continued. Dick only shook his head, wishing the conversation was over.

"How long?" Bruce asked. When Dick continued to stare at the floor, Bruce's voice took on the tones of the bat, "How long have you felt ill?"

"Since you started to see Myra," Dick answered reluctantly, "Since...since she's been staying at the mansion. It's that perfume, the violets. You know how I hate it!" Finally he met Bruce's eyes, defiant and confused and hurting. Bruce looked startled, his stare deep and penetrating.

"There's nothing in the perfume," he said at last, "I've analyzed it." Dick nodded, resigned. Bruce continued to consider him, his thoughts running deep behind his eyes.

"We will both wear our masks, when we confront her again," he said at last, all Batman. The Myra problem would be dealt with once the city was safe once more. Dick nodded and went to don his suit. Soon, Batman and Robin were riding out once more.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Dick groaned. He really was beginning to hate women. Now Alfred kept luring him into the kitchen to try and get him to talk and Bruce kept giving him worried looks and had even sent him to the doctor, also a woman, for various embarrassing tests. All because he had flinched away when that grandmotherly type woman had tried to hug him at that last party. Okay, from contact with just about everyone, but there wasn't anything weird in that. He just liked his space. And to top it all off, Poison Ivy was still on the loose, and Violet Myra was still saturated in her revolting perfume. So lately he had taken to skulking the halls and hiding whenever he heard anyone come close. He was beginning to rival Bruce for brooding in the shadows.

Now, Dick was wandering about a seldom used hallway in the hope of finding solitude. His hopes were dashed when he heard voices approaching. Rather than fleeing, however, he jumped up on an old table that scarcely looked like it could hold his weight. From there he was able to swing up to the top of a neighboring cabinet and into the rafters of the roof. There were many rafters in this part of the house. It was airier here and less formal or stuffy, which was part of the reason Dick had chosen it for his haunting. It was also remote, which was doubtless why Bruce was talking with Alfred there; they doubtless didn't want to be overheard.

"I just don't know what to do," Bruce was saying as they walked, "Physically, there's nothing wrong but the way he's acting...you know at that last party when Mrs. Lorden went to give him a hug he pushed away so hard he nearly sent her falling into the buffet! And last year at the same party he was charming everyone. If only he would just talk to me, and tell me what's wrong! He's acting like...like he was hurt, but he won't tell me!" Bruce sounded so anguished just then, so worried that Dick almost wanted to jump down from his perch and comfort him. But Dick didn't know what was wrong, not really. And Bruce never wanted to hear anything about his perfect Myrie.

"Have you thought, perhaps, that it might be best to seek professional help," Alfred suggested, "I haven't been able to get anything out of him, except that he hates your latest girl friend." Bruce sighed.

"Truth be told, that perfume of hers gets on my nerves as well," Bruce said, and now Dick almost came down by tumbling from the rafters, but he only just saved himself. "I ran tests on the stuff a million times," Bruce continued, "There's no connection with Poison Ivy's latest scheme, nothing that shouldn't be there. She must just like how it smells, revolting though it is."

"Perhaps it would help if you would tell master Dick the truth about the young lady," Alfred said, "At the moment he seems to half fear you mean to marry her."

Bruce didn't answer for a long moment. Dick listened, waiting. Did that mean Bruce wasn't as in love as he was acting?

"I think I might have married her," Bruce said at last, and Dick had to swallow against the sudden urge to throw up. The thought of that woman living with them, forever, was more revolting than her perfume. "But I can't," Bruce continued, "She isn't the type who would mix well with Batman. Even I can see that. And Dick can't stand her; I wouldn't do something like that to him." But he sounded so regretful and sad that Dick immediately began to feel guilty. If he wasn't there, perhaps Bruce could truly find happiness. Perhaps he already would have. Though, surely, Myra couldn't be it.

"The suit should not be an excuse," Alfred scolded lightly, "But I can't say that I'm not relieved."

"It's just...it is nice to have something for Bruce, for once," Bruce continued, "Something uncomplicated and easy."

"If you don't mind me saying, sir," Alfred answered, "Romance is never uncomplicated or easy."

"I suppose you're right," Bruce answered, "But what are we going to do about Dick? Do you really think we need a psychiatrist?"

"We do not seem to be able to help," Alfred pointed out. And then they continued their walk, their voices growing low in the distance until they faded out completely. Dick stayed up in the rafters, thinking on what he had heard.

"I don't need a shrink," he whispered to himself after a moment, "I just need Violet Myra to be gone." And he swung back down again and continued his walk, taking a direction away from where he had seen Bruce and Alfred go. He tried to ignore that he was shaking, that even now he could smell the faint odor of violets, that the drowning dreams had gotten worse. The doctor had said there was nothing wrong with him, and there wasn't. Nothing but strange dreams that conjured horrid feelings. That was all it was. Dreams.


	5. Chapter 5

WARNING: This story is Mature. This chapter is most definitely Mature. It contains extremely disturbing themes concerning sexual material. There is non-con involved.

Chapter 5

If there was one downside to getting to actually spend his nights as a super hero, it was sleep deprivation. Of course, if it weren't for his duo lifestyle, that wouldn't be such a problem, but as it was he often had to develop some odd schedules to get his homework done, find time to sleep, and time to help Batman either in patrolling or down in the cave. So it was not very surprising that, even with the caffeine of a cup of cocoa he was falling asleep over his homework one night. Actually, it was more surprising that his tiredness probably had more to do with the late hour rather than recent extra circular activities; it was the middle of the week after all and ages since the last patrol.

Dick drained his cup, rubbing his eyes in an uncoordinated stupor and thought he really should thank Alfred for leaving it for him sometime. He glanced at the clock and saw it was a bit past ten, earlier than it felt but certainly late enough to get to bed on a school night. Still, he had a chapter to finish reading, a chapter that should have been read already if he hadn't spent half the day brooding about Violet Myra having spent the day at the mansion. The day, and now the night, a thought that was enough to make him gag. No matter how loudly that woman went on about sleeping in separate rooms, Dick just knew they were sleeping together. He shook the revolting image from his mind and tried to concentrate on history, but when he found himself reading over the same blurred sentence five times he finally gave up.

He stumbled a bit as he stood up to stretch, feeling uncomfortably out of control of his own body. It was disconcerting to someone who spent their nights relying upon their gymnastic abilities and he shook his head to try and clear it. He must make sure not to let himself get so exhausted when he went on patrol, it wouldn't do to be stumbling about the streets of Gotham. Without even bothering to change for bed, he climbed under the covers and switched off his light. The chapter could wait until morning.

He had the jungle dream again that night. He was trapped in a mess of writhing green vines; they were wrapping about him like snakes, holding down his arms, creeping about his neck. It was like being captured by Poison Ivy all over again, waiting to see if he would be rescued, unable to breathe while the world slowly turned black. But Batman wasn't there, and neither was Dick in his Robin outfit. He was just himself, alone in a jungle of green vines sprouting purple flowers, flowers that wafted the stench of violets. And the dream grew darker. Now the vines were creeping, not strangling him but climbing over his body, pulling at his clothes. Dick gasped, squirming away as more vines began to push beneath the waistband of his pants, but there were too many too escape. He was trapped, held helpless, while vines roamed his body.

The worst part was when it felt good. He didn't want it to feel good; in that inexplicable dream way that he sometimes felt things, he just knew that he didn't want the pleasure and therefore it was bad. It was easier when the vines had been squeezing him, trying to hurt. He felt like he could struggle against that, but there wasn't any way to struggle when they were just sort of there, caressing him. The vines grew heavier, wetter somehow like it was raining, or perhaps it was his own tears now pulling in his eyes. He smelled violets everywhere.

And it wasn't vines anymore, it was that awful sea. The water was hot and soft and pulled him down until he couldn't breathe. Dark and horrible and heavy. And then the sea and the vines were gone.

He did not wake up. His dreams sunk deeper and deeper, to places where sunlight never reaches and tentacled kraken writhe in the dark secret depths. When he finally woke, foggy and disoriented, he did not feel rested.

He did not eat breakfast that day. Myra was at breakfast, still wearing her sickening perfume and Dick almost threw up at the table. Alfred remarked that he looked a bit green and suggested he stay home. Myra was quick to offer her motherly assistance, checking for a temperature at which point Dick did throw up, right into her ample bosom. She backed off after that and it cemented Dick's status as ill. It turned out he needn't have stayed up so late finishing that chapter after all.

A few hours later, Poison Ivy struck.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: I will repeat, this story is MATURE. This chapter his non-consensual sexual acts in it. Do not read if that bothers you. There will also be some violence.

Chapter 6

Dick was sitting by himself in his pajamas, a towel wrapped about his recently wetted hair, when a special report interrupted the Spanish soap opera he had been watching. Alfred had left him a cup of tea for when he got out and he sipped it slowly now, glad that his stomach had settled. In fact, he had felt better almost as soon as he got away from the table. He was only half watching the show, half falling asleep. Just as one of the women on the TV was getting particularly melodramatic, and Dick was wondering if he wouldn't rather watch the movie on the other channel instead, even if he had seen it twice before and hadn't liked it much either time, a male reporter took over the screen.

"This is an emergency news broadcast," he declared, trying to convey with his tone the urgency of the situation while at the same time flashing a grin at the camera, "A mysterious substance has somehow been added to the emergency sprinkler systems of various public…"

At that moment, the television was shut off. Dick looked up with a noise of protest, half expecting to find Alfred behind him. There was a person standing there, remote in hand, but it wasn't the butler.

"We don't want to sit around watching TV all day, do we?" Myrie asked him sweetly.

"There's something going on," Dick answered, frowning as he stood to face her, "There was a special…"

"In fact, I think we should go for a little trip," she continued, "Just the two of us." Dick could not even begin to express what he thought of the idea. He had hoped he'd scared her off after the throw up incident at breakfast. Besides, if this was something to do with Poison Ivy, then Batman might need him. He wasn't really feeling sick anymore, or he wasn't until Violet Myrie came closer. And she was acting very strangely.

"Come, now, Dicky," she purred, gliding around the furniture until she stood between him and the TV while extending her arms towards him invitingly, "Don't you want to spend some time with me?" It wasn't a motherly look she was giving him. It was as though she were looking at Bruce, except he wasn't there. Dick felt his stomach clinch, and he felt his face redden as his body began to react to her proximity. It was like being hit by Poison Ivy's phero-fertilizer all over again. He used to dream about woman like her, looking at him like this, except in his dreams they were younger, more innocent. And that was before the nightmares came, before Myrie came.

"No!" he managed to choke out, pulling backwards. His legs hit the edge of his chair and he fell down into it. She pouted darkly for a moment, before leaning over him, her bosom right in his face for a brief moment and then her eyes were looking directly into his. Dick stared into her eyes and made an effort to pull away, but only managed to sink deeper into the chair. He didn't like the way fire coursed through his blood, the way his limbs felt awkward as a newborn colt's. It was like he wasn't himself anymore, he wasn't Robin able to fly gracefully through the air. He was supposed to be able to take down thugs twice her weight, yet here she wasn't even really holding him and he couldn't escape. He felt sick.

"Poor, poor dear," Myrie murmured, her manner changing on a dime back into concerned mother, "Are you feeling bad? Is that why you don't want to come with me?" Dick nodded his head nervously, not trusting his voice. Her hand came up to his forehead, resting against his flushed skin and he shuddered. Her other hand slid beneath his shirt.

"What are you…" Dick began when her lips descended upon his, choking his words as her tongue slid inside his mouth. He whimpered, partly in fear, partly from feeling sick, but also because it felt good. And that made it worse. She broke away abruptly at the loud clatter of breaking glass.

Swiftly, Myrie pulled Dick up, spinning him around and holding him tightly to her chest. Alfred was standing at the doorway, a tray and broken glass lying at his feet. His look of shock, a look Dick never thought he would see in the butler's face, was quickly being replaced by one of dark, stony anger. But he didn't move, and slowly Dick became aware of something cold and metallic digging in to the side of his head.

"Alfred, dear," Myrie purred, "Me and Dicky here are going on a little car ride. Let Bruce know we'll call him later." And normally Dick would have escaped by now, normally he wouldn't have let himself get grabbed like that in the first place, but his limbs still didn't seem to be working right, and his heart was pounding in his ears, and his lungs were struggling to find air, and his vision was blurring and…Alfred was saying something. His tone was scathing and sharp, and just the slightest bit worried, like when they came back to the cave and one of them had gotten hurt. But the words weren't really making much sense, just the tone, and for a moment he was afraid he had done something wrong. Then he felt the gun digging into him again, pushing his head over to the side so it hurt, and he concentrated on the pain because that was the only thing that felt real. He knew he needed to get away from her, he really really needed to get away from her hands and the violets and the way he could feel her grinding her body up against his. He couldn't get his arms to throw her or his feet to do more than kick feebly at her shins, and he was facing the wrong direction to try throwing up on her again. Finally he did about the only thing he could do; he went limp.

Myrie may have had a gun, and she may have been bigger than Dick, but even being small for his age he was still quite a substantial weight for anyone to hold. Myrie couldn't. She made a soft grunting noise and they both fell to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Dick tried to roll away while Myrie tried to hold onto him and the television played unexpectedly in the background; someone must have sat on the remote. Alfred was there too, suddenly, and then something exploded. And Alfred wasn't there anymore, just Myrie.

He was in her lap and she had a gun in one hand and her cell phone in the other. On the television, the special bulletin was still going on, except the male reporter had been replaced by a young woman. She was dressed casually and had a nervous, stuttering air about her as though she hadn't expected to be filmed. Dick noticed this without really paying attention as she said something about men being effected but his eyes were on a pair of feet. The feet were wearing very good shoes, and they weren't moving.

"Alf'ed?" Dick managed to say, his voice sounding sick and weak in to his ears. The feet didn't respond. Then more people were in the room, everyday thugs, and even if Myrie couldn't lift him they had no trouble at all. He looked down from his new height, squirming ineffectually, but still all he could see were shoes. Myrie kicked one, holding the side of her head as though it pained her and said something in a dark, low tone. She led the way out of the room.

Soon they were all in a car together, Myrie and Dick and the thugs and a driver, and Dick was half in Myrie's lap while she cooed calmingly in his ear while one of her hands ran through his hair and the other slid beneath the waistband of his pajamas. The towel had been lost long ago, which Dick knew was bad, because that meant more work for Alfred, if only his feet had moved. He whimpered and one of the thugs laughed and the car began to move.


	7. Chapter 7

Warning: This chapter contains semi-graphic non-consensual sex. This story is dark.

Chapter 7

Dick did not know how long the car ride lasted. It was hard to know anything at all with the way the world was spinning chaotically around him. He could smell violets and hear low voices, and there were fingers sliding hotly over skin in places he was certain no fingers should be. But nor was he in one of his nightmarish dreams; he was awake enough to understand that at least. Myra had kidnapped him for some reason, and Alfred was…he didn't know where Alfred was and everytime he thought about that his heart would lurch and his thoughts would swiftly spin off in another direction. When the car finally stopped, one of the giant men from before picked Dick up again, holding him like an infant while Violet Myra led the way into a building.

His mind was slowly clearing, not enough, not nearly enough, but the world was beginning to make sense once more. All the same, what he saw confused him. They were in a garden, but they were indoors. And there was a throne where a woman with red hair was lounging. Myra stood before her.

"Honestly," Poison Ivy was saying, "I don't know what you see in the boy. Wouldn't it have been simpler to bring the millionaire here?" She had a slightly disgusted expression on her face as she looked at Myra. Myra didn't appear too concerned.

"I thought it was Batman you wanted," she answered, "He'll come, either way you know. You know how the bat gets about children in jeopardy, and you said he knows Bruce; he's bound to know little Dicky. Besides," she pouted slightly here, "Your perfume wasn't enough. He refused to go on a ride with me. Tried to send me away, but he must have gone to work after all; he wasn't there when I got back." She walked back to where Dick was still being held in the goon's arms. "I'd rather play with the boy anyway." Gently, she ran her fingers through his hair.

"I sent you after the man, not the boy," Poison Ivy insisted, her expression of disgust still evident, "People like you are why humanity deserves to die." Myra turned a dark look upon the throned villain.

"You promised I could have whoever I wanted if I did what you said," she answered, "You never would have gotten past the security in all those buildings if I wasn't there. And who better to test your newest formula than a man renowned for never keeping a girlfriend longer than a week?"

"The perfume was clean," Dick murmured, confusion evident on his face as he tried to concentrate well enough to follow what was going on, "He tested…said it was just…" Poison Ivy laughed at Myra's stunned expression.

"Seems the millionaire playboy wasn't as trusting as you thought," she said.

"It's your formula!" Myra hissed darkly at the other woman, "It doesn't work like you said it would. First Bruce wouldn't come with me, and then the boy looked sick when I asked him!" Ivy rolled her eyes.

"I don't think it works quite right with children," she agreed reluctantly, "Robin certainly didn't seem to care for me. But it's men I want anyway." Looking almost thoughtful, Poison Ivy reached over to caress a nearby vine that writhed beneath her fingers.

"You said I could have anyone I wanted, and I want the boy," Myra continued, once again rubbing her fingers through his hair. He struggled to pull away, revolted. Poison Ivy considered this.

"I need someone as bait," she agreed, "it was supposed to be the millionaire but I suppose his brat will do. The bat would come anyway, of course, I am enslaving half of Gotham, but this way it will be on my terms. He'll think he's immune; if Bruce Wayne could find nothing in your perfume than I'll bet he couldn't. No, he'll come for the boy. But he really should be tied up in the trap, not in your bed."

"You promised," Myra answered, clutching at Dick possessively, "Besides…what would bring the Bat faster than if he thought I was hurting him." She giggled slightly there, the same sort of giggles she had often given Bruce, and Dick shuddered. Poison Ivy eyed them both with distaste. But she also looked thoughtful. Then she shrugged. She might not have approved what Myra was doing, but nor did she really care.

"Take him to the room we prepared for Wayne, then," she said at last with only a hint of disappointment. The room had been set up with her and Wayne in mind, not Myra and the kid, but she supposed the premise was the same. And this way Ivy would have a clear head when the Bat did come calling. And Batman would be more fun than Wayne anyway. Myra smiled triumphantly and led the way as Dick was carried behind her.

The room in question turned out to be a bedroom. There were restraints on the bed, but Myra didn't seem inclined to use them after Dick was dropped unceremoniously into the middle. She probably was relying on whatever she had drugged him with to keep him from escaping. Unfortunately, Dick was afraid she might be right. His head was clearer than it had been, but his limbs still felt awkward and clumsy. They were left alone.

For a long moment she only stared at him, watching him attempt to pull himself away from her and off the bed. Before he could manage more than to wriggle a bit towards the edge, she approached. He stopped his feeble attempts to escape, his heart beating fast. As she lay down next to him, he felt his breathing increasing; soon all he could concentrate on was breathing and making his lungs work. There didn't seem to be any air. She was too close.

"Shhh," she murmured into his ear, the smell of violets thickly coating over his lungs.

"Stop," he gasped, his hands clawing desperately but uselessly at her approaching fingers. He couldn't stop her. He couldn't stop anything that followed, not even when he was sick all over her. She just used the sheets to wipe up the mess and continued in her sickening pursuits.

After it was over, after he had experienced everything, the pull of the drugs finally won. She lay next to him, holding him, neither of the decent.

It was to this scene that Batman arrived.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

If there was one rule that Batman held to beyond all others, it was that he did not kill. But another rule, one he broke on a nightly basis but a rule nonetheless which had been instilled in him at an early age by his own father, was that he did not hit women. The rule was ridiculous, of course. Sex did not determine whether one was capable of becoming a villain, or villainess as the case may be, and restraint on his part was never reciprocated. But it did breed into his movements a slight twitch, a faint hesitation when it came to blows if his adversary just happened to have breasts. It was very faint. It was doubtful if anyone but himself even noticed, but it was there.

Luckily, the average thugs he came to blows with tended to be men. Women, while not always adverse to a fight, tended more towards being masterminds behind some new ploy for power or riches or revenge. They had men to fight for them.

This latest fight was no exception. Poison Ivy was more the type to poison and seduce than to beat someone into subservience. So when it became clear she had sprung her latest scheme and that she was raising an army that, by necessity of their hormones was made entirely out of men, Batman sprang into action. Of course, one might argue that if a man is brainwashed, it certainly isn't his fault that he has sided with a villain and so Batman might want to temper his blows. On the other hand, an even newer development told him that Dick was missing. So he did not fight for the kill but neither did he soften his punches. And he found Poison Ivy's latest hide out.

It wasn't difficult. She wasn't trying to hide. It didn't take the world's greatest detective to determine that she had set a trap for him, likely baited by the boy. He toyed, briefly, with the idea that she had unearthed his identity but quickly decided it was merely coincidence. Bruce Wayne was being targeted separately from Batman, likely because Bruce Wayne had given the villainess access to what she needed. That he was known as Batman's friend probably didn't hurt. In fact, he was probably lucky Dick had been kidnapped rather than himself; it wouldn't be the first time someone attempted to use Bruce Wayne to get at Batman, and those always made for tricky situations.

He knew, going in, that his supposed girl friend was a villain. There was no chance of her being brainwashed by her hormones, and he would have seen the signs if she had been brainwashed. In fact, he was confused as to why he had missed the signs sooner, but he saw her for what she was now. He had seen her take down Alfred and kidnap Dick on one of the security feeds.

Which is not to say that he entirely understood the situation. The camera angle was wrong, for instance, to see the way she had kissed Dick. In fact, from behind and at a slight distance, it looked more like her man handling his ward after drugging him into a stupor. So he knew Dick was kidnapped, but he imagined coming upon him either tied up in a cell or placed in some sort of jeopardy that was supposed to make Batman forget common sense and leap to his rescue, thus springing the trap. What he did not expect to find was his girlfriend and his ward apparently sleeping together in a bed, their clothes strewn about the room.

He had about five seconds to reset what he thought he knew with actual fact, five seconds to rewind every conversation, every look, even the assault in the video feed against Alfred's shocked, horrified expression, and then he understood. Never mind hitting a girl, it took every ounce of will power he possessed not to break rule number one.

Author's Note: Yes, I know it's extremely short. Sorry. It was just such a perfect place to leave off. Next chapter should have more action in it.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Thirty-seven separate scenarios flashed through Batman's mind before he acted. About twenty-six of those he immediately disregarded as far too bloodthirsty. Seven he disregarded against all common sense because they involved ignoring the scene before him under the theory that his ward was not in immediate danger and it made no sense to spring an obvious trap. Of the remaining four options, two were just plain stupid and had almost no chance of working but would be extremely satisfying if he stayed free long enough to execute, and one involved killing Myra from where he stood, not as bloodthirsty as the first twenty-six methods but still not a viable option. That left a thoroughly unsatisfying, imperfect plan that was slightly less likely in succeeding as leaving the scene altogether in search of Poison Ivy, but a much better chance than barging into the room.

Still standing in the doorway, all senses on high alert, he tossed a knock-out chemical into the room. He himself was already wearing a mask (he _was_ dealing with Poison Ivy who had already drugged him once; several times even if Myra had been dosing him). Dick wasn't, of course, but even though there was as slight risk of giving someone a sedative who had already been drugged with an unknown substance, the gas was very mild and the honest truth was that, in this particular instance, an awake Dick was a liability. Batman had no way of knowing in what state of mind Dick would awaken to; either he would hinder his own rescue or he would be too proficient at helping and give himself away. It was…simpler this way.

Nothing happened in the five seconds he gave the canister to work (the sleeping occupants of the bed couldn't fall any more asleep). No alarms sounded, no bars sprang up or plants. Still not entering the room, Batman shot a line at the bed, hooked it, braced the line in the doorway, and reeled. The bed was of strong iron and had been bolted, both into the floor and the wall with shackles welded to the post. The mattress, however, had no such fixings. It flew across the room, slammed into the doorway, and threw its occupants forward at the abrupt stop. Myra tumbled with a vicious thud into the wall. Dick tumbled directly into Batman's arms. This took no more than two and a half seconds.

Now the room reacted, heavy bars clamping over the doorway like a Venus fly trap closing its jaws, but seconds too late. There was a ripping noise as the bars snagged the sheet Batman had pulled up with Dick, and then they were gone.

Their flight was not completely unimpeded, but even burdened as he was with Dick thrown over his shoulder Batman had no difficulty dispatching anyone he did run across. Hypnotic powers might get Ivy willing cannon fodder, but it did not generally provide her minions with great skill. Batman ran, not to find Poison Ivy, not yet, but instead back to the Bat mobile where he quickly stowed Dick, taking the time to wrap him in his spare robe and do a quick check of his vitals.

Physically, the boy seemed fine. Anything else would be dealt with after. He locked the car (full lock and emergency protocols active; Dick would almost certainly be alright now, no matter what the outcome for Batman was) and left.

In the meantime, Poison Ivy was glaring at Myra's crumpled form. The trap had been perfect. All it had needed was for Batman to walk into the room. He'd have found himself locked into an impenetrable cell. Then the walls would have opened to reveal her and her waiting vines, he and the boy would have been ensnared (the boy to ensure that Bats was distracted and more easily grabbed) and Ivy could have her fun with him at her leisure. Perfect.

But Batman hadn't entered the room. He'd escaped, with the bait, leaving only that useless woman behind. The plan was falling apart. It was only a matter of time before Batman found a way to break the pheromone's power. And he was smart. He'd know better than to hack at the branches when he could go straight for the root. He was coming for her. But surely she could use that to her advantage?

"Take the bitch," she ordered two of her men with an imperious motion of her hand to Myra's crumbled form, "We'll make her the bait." The men complied eagerly, though it said a lot to Ivy's power of seduction that their hands didn't even wander over the nude form as they picked her up. As if Ivy cared about their animalistic couplings.

Of course, she knew Batman wouldn't much care to save Myra; she had seen what she had done to the boy (not that she was really watching, but she had to keep an eye on proceedings for the trap to work). But perhaps, just maybe, the scene he had come upon could incite him to his baser desire for violence and revenge. Perhaps…

There was a dark shadow, a slight draft of wind behind her. He was already there.

The fight was brief. Ivy's army of minions had already been dosed with the antidote, ironically enough through the same method Ivy had used, the sprinkler systems. Batman had enlisted the aid of female officers, firefighters, and scientists to mass produce the antidote and administer it while he went after the source. Ivy's entire plan had been contingent upon incapacitating Batman. Her garden, while deadly, did not have the dexterity or mobility needed to help her achieve victory, and her minions proved to be rather useless. And to be perfectly honest, at that point, the fight had somewhat gone out of her. She expected to fail. Furious and regal though she stood, her mind was already on contingency plans of how to escape after her capture, even as she fought to evade said end.

The cleanup afterwards took longer than the actual rescue and capture had. Most of that Batman left to Gotham's finest, but he did take the time to confiscate the video feed of the room Myra had…molested…Dick in. There was evidence enough without it. He left.

Dick was still unconscious when he carried him to his bed. Bruce stared at him silently (after a brief but intimately thorough exam for injuries. It seemed Dick had come out of his ordeal with nothing more than a few bruises.) He was dressed now, tucked into his bed and moving slightly in his sleep, the smooth countenance of unconsciousness giving way to signs of distress. Without turning his head to look, Bruce spoke to a presence at the door.

"You are supposed to be resting."

"I came to see Master Dick," Alfred answered, his tone but stubborn and fragile. Then at last Bruce looked at him. He stood unsteadily in the doorway, the day's trials evident in his bandaged head where he had been struck during the struggle that had resulted in their couch being shot. Still, despite his injury he looked over both his charges with an adept eye.

"This was not your fault," he said suddenly. Bruce didn't answer. He turned his head to look at Dick once more. He had never felt so out of depth before; physical dangers he could handle, and he was used to mental demons of all kinds, but this…and why hadn't he seen it? He had invited Myra into their home. He had allowed her to…and all the signs had been there, but he still hadn't…

"It was not your fault," Alfred stated definitively once more, suddenly right at his shoulder, and offering an embroidered handkerchief. It was only then that Bruce realized he, he of all people, was actually crying. He turned away abruptly, determined to erase any evidence of such a weakness. He shook himself. Dick was safe, Poison Ivy and Myra were imprisoned. This could be dealt with. It would be dealt with. Stoic and silent, he turned and stalked from the room. There had to be something that needed to be taken care of, something he could physically do.

He had only managed two steps down the hall before he was stopped by a piercing scream. Dick was awake.


End file.
